The boy slept! The sun had gone down and only twilight remained. He dreamed that a huge bear appeared on the path, its shambling feet softly treading. He tried to raise his rifle but his arms were powerless, seemed paralyzed! The bear came on, now faster. Stopping before him it rose on its hind legs and hugged him with its fore paws, and he struggled to scream but could not utter a sound. He opened his eyes. A brawny hand was over his mouth, a powerful arm about his arms pinioned them to his side. The hand was red, and on the wrist was a copper bracelet! A guttural voice spoke low but harshly in his ear: "Um no speak. Die!" Then the boy felt his arms being bound with leather thongs and he looked into the face of the savage, saw the hideous paint on it, the bright, beady eyes, the whites of which looked yellow; noted the high cheekbones, the nose like an eagle's beak, the cruel mouth like a thin slit in the face, and fear was upon him, such, as he never had known. "Halloo." Surely that was Ferguson's voice, and must be calling him. "Halloo!" The last call was from the other side and it was not Ferguson's voice. The Indian lifted his tomahawk and the lad expected it to be buried in his head. Instead came the low-spoken word: "March!" Guided by the savage from behind and stepping cautiously, as he believed should he break a twig or make other noise he would be struck down on the instant, Rodney went on into the forest. They had thus advanced less than twenty rods when, through the trees and standing back to them, they saw a man. He appeared unconscious of their presence. Yes, that must be Ferguson! The thought flashed through the boy's mind and, unconscious of his own safety, his lips opened to cry the alarm, which would have sounded his own death knell, when he saw a tomahawk hurtle through the air and bury itself in the man's brain. He fell to his knees without a moan. The Indian, leaping to his side, had scalped him before Rodney realized what had happened. Then, seizing the lad by the shoulder, he ordered him to "Run." When they stopped the boy was breathless, but the savage was as cool and snakelike in his movements as at the first. Soon they were joined by other Indians. The boy was bound to a tree and they left him. "They've gone to ambush our party," thought the boy. What would become of him should the savages be driven off and he left tied to a tree in that wilderness? A squirrel running behind him startled him so the perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that it would be better to starve to death tied to a tree than to be burned to death tied to a stake. He tugged at his bonds until the blood started on his wrists. A rattling fire of musketry was heard in the direction of the river. After a lull there were more shots followed by yells, which indicated that the savages had been successful in driving off the whites.